The touch of your hand is a gentle brush
of barbed wire; your tender embrace wraps me
in a straight jacket.

I should stop. I should grow out of it and move on,
but I can't - something of you lingers in the air,
a suffocating gas.

The day we met, I saw you across
a crowded room. I felt your gaze go through me
like a rusty blade.

And now you're under my skin; your poison fills
my bloodstream. Your image is branded completely
into my mind.

I have no choices. Life without you is a gradual decline
to death - but without you, I'd topple straight into
the grave.

And so I stay
to gasp a few more breaths.